


like sunday morning

by pumpkinless



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Collars, Cunnilingus, Domestic Bliss, F/F, Genderswap, Light D/s, Lingerie, Praise Kink, Sort Of, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 01:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15546873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinless/pseuds/pumpkinless
Summary: She refills the cat food bowls, stretches in the morning sunlight falling in through the kitchen window, and finally pulls down a mug and the sugar. It’s the best kind of morning—lazy, indulgent, slow. Maybe when Keith wakes up, Shiro can convince her to make blueberry pancakes or something equally exciting. Shiro can solidly contribute mimosas, if they want.





	like sunday morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shxrogane (minsazucar)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minsazucar/gifts).



> you know how sometimes a song gets stuck in your head and you can't get it out until you listen to it 8 times in a row? that's what happened to me with this fic. and then i was encouraged.
> 
> title from "easy" by the commodores (the best version don't fight me)
> 
> [keith's outfit](https://www.etsy.com/listing/546132157/red-garter-belt-lingerie-set-hot-red)

Sundays are for sweatpants.

Shiro wakes up first to the scent of coffee already drifting through the house; the best birthday gift she ever gave Keith was the coffee pot with an automatic timer to replace their old, broken model. No longer does one of them need to stumble out of bed in the morning to make coffee with eyes half-blind from sleep in a machine that doesn't want to function. It’s the gift that keeps on giving.

She refills the cat food bowls, stretches in the morning sunlight falling in through the kitchen window, and finally pulls down a mug and the sugar. It’s the best kind of morning—lazy, indulgent, slow. Maybe when Keith wakes up, Shiro can convince her to make blueberry pancakes or something equally exciting. Shiro can solidly contribute mimosas, if they want.

One cat wanders out of the bedroom followed soon by the second while Shiro sips her coffee over the sink, admiring the way their flower boxes have bloomed since spring truly set in. It’s one of their weekend projects, since Keith knows nothing about gardening and Shiro hasn’t done it since she was a kid, long before the two of them met in high school. More than anything else, it’s what makes this house really feel like _theirs_ , like a home with more than a collection of furniture they cobbled together from various sources, not just somewhere to spend the night. Shiro has looked at the flower box every morning since they built it from an instructional YouTube video and smiled like a sappy, disgustingly in love idiot.

The tiny purple petunias are more than Shiro thought she would ever have. She likes to be thankful for them every day.

When the first cup of coffee goes down, Shiro nudges open the dishwasher door and gets to work, trying to keep the clink of the dishes as quiet as possible so the sound doesn’t echo down the hall. Black climbs to the top of the cabinets to watch her, tail flopped down over the edge.

“You’re not supposed to climb on the counter,” Shiro says half-heartedly, stacking cups in the cupboard above the sink. “You know that.”

“You’ll never win that argument.”

Keith’s voice startles her, still sleep rough and gravely, full of quiet amusement. Shiro turns to look at her with a sheepish grin, taking in the navy blue zip up hoodie that came out of Shiro’s side of the dresser and Keith’s favorite heather gray joggers that cling to her calves and ankles in the most distracting way. With her shaggy hair half up in a bun at the back of her head, still a little messy and frizzy, and her hands stuffed into her pockets, she is—once again and always—the most beautiful thing Shiro has ever seen.

“Morning, baby,” Shiro says, a little helpless. She meets Keith’s soft kiss happily, the faintest hint of mint on her breath as she stretches up on her toes to reach Shiro’s mouth. Keith hums in return, her eyelashes like ink dusting the tops of her cheeks as she blinks up at Shiro slowly, smile curling at the edges of her mouth.

Time snaps back into place when Keith steps away to the coffee pot, leaving Shiro standing by the open dishwasher with a spatula in her hands, practically panting after Keith like a thirsty dog.

“Any plans today?” Keith asks once she’s had her first few sips of coffee, black, no sugar, perched on the counter. She has her sleeves pulled over her hands to hold her steaming mug, legs crossed at the ankles and displaying her chipped green toenail polish.

“Not really,” Shiro says, shrugging. “We should probably meal plan for the week, but other than that . . . .”

And Keith hums again. She swallows her near-scalding coffee down with a fearlessness that always worries Shiro—if she did the same, she’d be walking away with burns on her tongue and the roof of her mouth, but Keith never seems bothered. It’s just further proof that Keith is and will always be more hardcore than Shiro, and that she’s more than okay with that.

Once the dishwasher is empty, Shiro rinses out her coffee mug and places it in the top rack, sliding it shut. Body on autopilot, she walks over to Keith whose knees part immediately for Shiro to stand between them. Shiro wraps her arms loosely around Keith’s waist and nuzzles her forehead into Keith’s shoulder, the hood of her sweatshirt bunching up. Keith scratches her fingernails through Shiro’s undercut, a small massage that makes Shiro wish she could purr.

“You need a haircut,” Keith says, kissing the shell of Shiro’s ear.

Shiro groans and buries her face even deeper, trying to smother herself in the scent of laundry detergent. Shiro’s metal fingers rise to Keith’s zipper, tugging it down from the top of the sweatshirt so she can push her face into Keith’s skin and just _feel_ her, drown in her existence and presence without any barriers.

That’s when she sees it.

“Hey, what’s this?” Shiro asks, hand abandoning the zipper to trace the top edge of the red ribbon wrapping around the base of Keith’s throat.

Keith smiles—a graceful, secretive smile. She shotguns the rest of her coffee, sets down her mug, and pushes it all the way back to the backsplash. Shiro’s breath comes quicker—she saw, when Keith’s head was tipped back to expose the long, beautiful column of her throat, another ribbon attached to the center of the choker and leading down. Mouth suddenly dry, Shiro presses a fingertip to the part where the ribbons join. “Keith,” she whispers.

Taunting and slow, Keith tugs the zipper down an inch, and then another, revealing sharp collar bones and a blood red ribbon that just keeps going down, down, deep into the soft hollow of skin between her breasts, ending in a tiny bow and the scalloped top of lace. The reveal is poised to steal the very last vestiges of breath from Shiro’s lungs.

“Fuck, baby . . . .” Shiro ghosts her fingers down Keith’s breastbone, watching goosebumps rise in their wake. She hooks one finger under the ribbon experimentally, tugging just hard enough for Keith to feel the _collar_ around her neck refuse to give. “Is this for me?”

“Always,” Keith whispers, her hand covering Shiro’s own.

Together, they push the hoodie off Keith’s shoulders, still half zipped around her waist, but Shiro can’t wait for her to take it all the way off. The lace is just barely sheer, the brown of her nipples not quite hidden underneath. Shiro is ravenous as she traces the edges of red on Keith’s skin.

“Tell me where you bought this,” Shiro says urgently, unable to tear her eyes away. “I’m going to buy you one in every color, Keith, I swear I—”

Keith silences her with a kiss, so different from the one she greeted Shiro with earlier—this one is wet and luxurious, almost devilish. Keith’s eyes gleam when they part and Shiro’s eyes flutter open.

“Keep going,” she says, pulling Shiro’s hand back to the zipper of the hoodie.

It’s like unwrapping the best kind of present. Shiro finds a matching garter belt wrapped around the thinnest part of Keith’s waist, her abs rolling underneath it as she twists to show off for Shiro. The sweatshirt falls to the counter, useless now, and Shiro urges Keith down on to her own feet. She unties the drawstring of Keith’s joggers—bought a size too big, so as soon as they’re free, they fall, pooling at Keith’s bare feet. Thin scraps of lace and ribbon adorn her hips, so different from the no nonsense cotton underwear both of them normally prefer. Delicately, Keith steps out of them and toes them to the side while Shiro tries to form just one rational thought and utterly fails.

It’s—it’s incredible, is what it is. Enchanting. Shiro can’t believe what’s before her eyes; Keith is a vision in strappy, delicate, gorgeous lingerie, and Shiro has never wanted her more. This isn’t the first time they’ve bought something like this, but nothing has ever fit Keith so perfectly. The straps and lace wrap around her body like they were made only for her. The color of it is like the dusting of a blush at the tops of Keith's cheeks turned up to eleven, saturated and spread over her skin in cherry red.

Keith is so beautiful that Shiro is dizzy with arousal.

“Fuck.” There aren’t words as Keith stretches her arms above her head, stomach growing taut. “Turn around,” Shiro says, hoarse.

She spins, keeping her eyes locked on Shiro until the very last moment. Shiro smooths her hands down from Keith’s shoulders, lingering on the ribbons wrapping up her body, savoring, and finally resting low on her hips.

There’s a strong chance Shiro is actually still asleep in bed right now and this is nothing but a wonderful dream.

“I love it, baby,” she says. Keith bends then, leaning her elbows on the counter and pushing her ass out, drawing attention to the single straps around her thighs, just enough of a decoration to send Shiro spiraling. “You don’t understand how amazing you look right now.” _Shiro_ doesn’t fully understand it either, if she’s honest. This is just perfect on Keith, too perfect for comprehension.

“I bought it for you,” Keith murmurs, eyes meeting Shiro’s over her shoulder. “Was gonna save it for a special occasion, but—” Keith sighs into the touch of Shiro’s fingers tracing down the straight line of her spine, hitching over every bump of ribbon.

“But what, baby?” Shiro nudges a kiss between Keith’s shoulder blades, mouth moving up her spine vertebrae by vertebrae until Shiro can press her lips to the back of the collar around Keith’s neck, half-tempted to undo the clasp just to get at the skin underneath it. The urge to mark Keith up like this, the stake her claim even though they’re both more than clear about belonging to each other, is difficult to resist. She sets her teeth against Keith’s skin and feels the vibration of her moan.

“Our anniversary isn’t for months,” Keith admits. “I couldn’t wait that long.”

Shiro pulls Keith back against her own body as she stands, arms reaching back to wrap around Shiro’s neck. “I can’t believe how beautiful you are,” Shiro whispers. “God, Keith. You look—god.” Hooking her chin over Keith’s shoulder, Shiro stares down in awe, gaze caught by the swell of her chest and touch smoothing over Keith’s stomach and soft lace in equal turns.

She can’t resist sliding a hand down, down, over lace, and in between Keith’s thighs, pressing against her hot cunt, the fabric there already damp. Keith’s breath slips out in a soft huff, face turning  in to Shiro’s neck and mouthing at whatever skin she finds there, lips careful on her throat.

“All for you,” she says. “I love you so much, Shiro, I want—”

“Tell me,” Shiro says, voice dropping lower and lower as she flicks her fingers teasingly against Keith, refusing to touch her for real until Keith gets out whatever she’s holding inside.

Keith doesn’t seem to know what to do with her hands, and one fists in the top of Shiro’s hair in distress as she grinds her hips down. “Soon as I saw it online,” she admits on a gasp. “Right then, knew I—knew I wanted you to fuck me in it.”

“You promise to be good for me?” Shiro asks. Her fingers close on Keith’s nipple through the lace of her bra, and Keith pushes her chest into it, startled. “You look so good, baby, I just wanna take care of you right.”

Gripping Shiro’s wrist tight, Keith sighs softly. “You always do.”

One hand splayed across Keith’s belly to keep her pulled back against Shiro, Shiro’s right hand pulls up just enough to dip inside the line of her underwear, fingers gliding through cropped hair to find the warmth and wetness below. Keith moans so quietly it’s mostly just a silent vibration. Shiro drags her middle finger through slick folds, already wet from the anticipation of what Keith must have been planning since she opened her eyes this morning.

“I can feel how much you want this,” Shiro tells her, but she’s anything but prepared for the whimper that falls from Keith’s lips as Shiro strokes two fingers over her clit.

Shiro closes her eyes and takes one deep breath to settle herself, falling into a headspace that’s calmer but still so incredibly grateful for Keith and all her beauty. She teases Keith with light touches, just a single finger inside of her even though Keith always begs for more, to be fuller, to be forced to _feel it_. Keith pants in her arms, legs shaking and eyes half closed, face trying to hide deep in Shiro’s neck.

“You are _such_ a good girl for me,” Shiro whispers in her ear. Keith moans for real this time, low and deep in her throat as her hips twitch against Shiro’s hold. “You’re so pretty, baby. All of this, just for me.”

“Just you,” Keith pants back. She wiggles her hips as Shiro traces a finger around her clit, trying to find the pressure she wants. She’s so wet that Shiro’s hand is soaked, thumb and fourth finger spreading her apart so Shiro can touch her. “I—please, _please_ ,” Keith says, left hand falling to land on Shiro’s, lacing her fingers between the spaces of Shiro’s own against her belly. Just that gesture, almost thoughtless in how tender it is, makes Shiro smile and turn her nose into the hollow behind Keith’s ear, breathing in the scent of her shampoo.

Slow as she can, Shiro slides two fingers into Keith, softer than velvet and practically dripping for her touch. Keith sighs, moans, rolls her hips down for more—gasps when Shiro drags the heel of her hand against Keith’s clit and curls her fingers inside all at once. She sounds as ethereal as she looks.

Shiro presses a wet kiss against the soft place underneath her jaw. “Touch yourself for me,” she says, pulling Keith’s hand up to her breast. “Get your hand under there and—that’s it, baby. Good girl.”

Keith rolls her nipple between her fingers with a gentle touch. Shiro unhooks her bra from the back to give her more room to move, but she wants to keep staring at that gorgeous strap running down the center of her chest that draws Shiro’s eyes to all the best places. Keith bites her lip to keep back a whimper, but Shiro rubs a thumb over it gently, encouraging her to make more noise. It’s a dam breaking, just like that, as Keith’s mouth drops open so sweetly, little whines and whispers of moans falling from her lips.

Pressing her fingers deeper, Shiro adds a third and fucks Keith as best she can from this angle, watching Keith’s hands touch her own breasts just how she wants. “I want you to come for me,” Shiro says against the shell of her ear. “Let me hear you, baby girl, let me hear exactly how good I make you feel in the pretty lace you bought just to show off to me.”

“Yes, _yes_ ,” Keith says, back arching in pleasure. The sopping wet sounds from below are becoming desperate as Keith tries to spread her legs ever wider without losing footing. Shiro slips her free hand under Keith’s arm to rest at the base of her throat along the ribbon collar there, a mark of ownership that Shiro is privileged to lay claim to.

Keith comes on a choked moan, clenching tight around Shiro’s fingers as one hand falls to the counter and seizes the edge to steady herself, the sound of her whimpers almost shocked at how little Shiro had to touch her before she tipped over the edge. Just hearing her noises and watching her chest heave with her breathing sends a shock of arousal through Shiro's whole body, jolting the steadily growing heat into something almost unbearable.

She fucks Keith through her orgasm and keeps going until Keith is squirming from overstimulation, trying to get relief but unable to get out from under Shiro's hands. Shiro holds her tight at her neck, not squeezing, not like how she knows Keith would like, but a firm reminder that Shiro is in charge here.

This isn’t what Shiro expected to wake up to. But she’s not complaining at all.

“That good, baby?” she asks once her hand has finally slowed to a stop. Keith’s breath shudders, and her fingers wrap around Shiro’s wrists to tug her away from where she’s too sensitive. “Clean these up for me so you don’t make more of a mess of your pretty outfit.”

Keith takes the fingers into her mouth like she was born to do it, moaning softly at the sharp taste and Shiro presses as far back as she can go. Keith’s tongue curls around them, licking at the webbing between her fingers. She’s so sweet and soft like this, completely pliant and willing, her heavy-lidded eyes loving as she turns around in Shiro’s arms.

“Fuck,” Shiro hisses, reminded intensely of how badly she wants to be touched. “Come here.”

Shiro drags Keith into the living room on her wobbly legs, kissing her, desperate, and Keith does her best to keep up, orgasm-stupid and eager to please. She rehooks Keith’s bra to keep it in place—normally Shiro is all for losing increasing amounts of clothing, but this is a special case. Shiro shoves her own sweatpants off and flops down, making herself comfortable on their plush couch and dragging Keith into her lap. Keith settles there happily, legs spread wide over the thickness of Shiro’s thighs, and her kiss is needy and demanding, hands clenched in the fabric of Shiro’s loose tank top.

Heat swirls between them. Shiro breaks the kiss with a gasp, head falling back, and Keith mouths at the side of her neck. Hands slide underneath Shiro’s shirt to touch bare skin, tracing faded scars and teasing at the fullness of Shiro’s breasts, almost aching for Keith’s sure touch and gentle caress.

“Wait, let me . . . .” Shiro says, reaching for the hem of her tank top. She twists it off her body and drops it behind the couch without a second thought.

“You’re so beautiful.” The softness of Keith’s tone catches her off guard. It’s all Shiro can do to hold onto Keith’s waist as hands return, mapping out broad shoulders and thick biceps, and when Keith’s eyes go dark touching them, Shiro can picture exactly what’s going through her mind, every filthy thought. “Let me make you feel good,” Keith says, her dark gaze almost too intense. But Shiro stares back, right into the sun sitting at the core of her, and she nods, struck.

Keith’s lips are soft across her chest, trailing down to her nipples and teasing with tiny kitten licks. Shiro sighs through her nose and settles back deeper into the couch cushion, one hand winding casually into the back of Keith’s hair. She doesn’t tug, not yet, but just holds Keith to her, wet mouth and the pointed tip of her nose touching Shiro’s skin so lightly they almost tickle.

It’s a casual migration down, Keith’s head dipping to Shiro’s belly button as she slides a leg backwards off the couch, refusing to stop touching as she settles on her knees between Shiro’s spread legs.

She looks so good on her knees.

“C’mere, baby,” Shiro says, hooking a finger in her collar and tugging Keith in. Keith bites her lip as Shiro draws her to where her thighs join, leaning her head against the soft skin of Shiro’s inner thigh and staring up at Shiro with big, dark eyes. Shiro cards her fingers through Keith’s hair, gently pushing her bangs back out of her face, and just as Keith’s face starts to relax with pleasure, she fists her hair tight. A shocked gasp tumbles from Keith’s lips, and a wave of heat runs through Shiro.

“You want to be a good girl for me?” Shiro asks, dragging a thumb over Keith’s lip. Keith nods, sucking the tip in and scraping her front teeth over Shiro’s fingertip. Shiro smiles down, too fond by far for their game but unstoppable all the same. “Show me.”

Pulling one leg up so her heel rests on the couch, opening herself up to Keith, Shiro says, “Touch me, baby.”

It’s the sweetest torture because Keith is a vision from this angle, dolled up in red ribbon and lace like a present just for Shiro. It’s not even been ten minutes since Shiro was inside of her, and despite her own arousal, all she wants is to push Keith down to the area rug on the living room floor and destroy her, break her open and apart until she’s sobbing Shiro’s name into their area rug.

But Keith has her hands on Shiro’s hips, thumbs stroking over her hipbones, kissing up the insides of her thighs like a good girl, just how Shiro likes to be teased a little before the first touch. Shiro runs a finger along the edge of the ribbon wrapped around the back of Keith’s neck and then silently urges her on with a nudge to the back of her head. Keith takes direction well, always willing to give Shiro what she wants as best as she can, and right now, Shiro needs—

 _Oh,_ that’s just what Shiro needs, a wicked tongue finally parting the folds of her cunt, unabashed and unashamed. Shiro’s fingers curl without permission, blunt fingernails digging into Keith’s head for just a moment before she relaxes them, not quite yet willing to pull.

It’s Keith’s spitfire dedication that makes her so good at this, from the first fumbling time as teenagers to now, eating Shiro out with the single-minded determination of a woman on a mission like no other. She dives in as if she’s starving, face buried in Shiro’s cunt as her tongue traces maddening patterns over every part of Shiro she knows will undo her.

Shiro moans and pulls her head in tighter, uses her abs to lift her hips half an inch and grind back against Keith’s tongue, wet and desperate. Keith wraps her arms under each of Shiro’s thighs and tugs them further open. Shiro strains her hips to make it happen, one of her heels slipping on Keith’s back as she tries to plant it in one place, but every time she thinks she’s got it, Keith shifts or tongues her harder, and all the strength goes out of Shiro..

Keith sucks hard at Shiro’s clit, a devastating move that makes her cry out, and the oncoming storm kindles in the pit of her belly. Shiro’s hands are almost too tight in Keith’s hair and she makes a strong effort to relent, but every moment just builds pressure inside her and renders her brain’s commands to her body impossible to carry out. Keith squeezes each handful of thigh in her grip, encouraging, and so Shiro throws her head back and clutches Keith to her like a prize she’s won.

Wrenching her head down, Shiro takes in one more look of Keith—on her knees, wrapped up beautifully, acting like Shiro’s cunt is the only thing left on Earth—and with it seared into her mind, Shiro’s thoughts explode. She comes with an arched back and a hoarse cry, thighs and hands gripping Keith to her as if Keith is trying to pull away instead of press ever closer.

Shiro shudders through the sensation of waves crashing through her, and when her thighs finally drop to a sprawl, Keith pulls back to look at her, face smeared with slick and an almost smug look.

She doesn’t give Shiro any time to relax, though, two fingers slipping inside her cunt and tongue returning to her clit, relentless. Oversensitivity is a strange thing—it’s too much but she’s numb with it, forcing Keith to break through the barrier of her body demanding a moment’s rest.

Shiro shakes with overstimulation, unable to catch her breath, but it burns in the best way, and with Keith fucking her hard and fast, a third pushing finger inside with a delicious stretch, tightness starts to build again. Heaving harsh breaths, Shiro doesn’t know if she wants to push Keith away or drag her closer again, caught up in the struggle of not knowing if she’s physically capable of doing what Keith is asking but wanting it all the same. It’s like wanting to scream without a voice, all control over her limbs lost as Shiro gapes up at the ceiling with her fingers gripped too tight in Keith’s hair. She can’t let go, can’t do anything but gasp and choke on her breath until—until—

The second orgasm is short but so powerful her sight blacks out even with her eyes open, her neck cracking at an unfortunate angle as her legs shake uncontrollably.

Finally, there’s silence but for their breathing, and Shiro closes her eyes, chest still heaving. Her legs drop to the floor on either side of Keith who’s breathing almost as hard, and when her head finally lolls so she can look at Keith, she finds a far too pleased eyebrow raised at her as Keith licks her fingers clean.

“You’re filthy,” Shiro says, tugging on a strand of Keith’s hair.

“You like it,” Keith says, cheeky.

Shiro studies her without moving, an idea forming slowly as she considers the pros and cons of refusing to let Keith wear anything but red lace the rest of the day.

Suddenly, Keith is in her lap, pressing slick, swollen lips to Shiro’s and coaxing her mouth open in return. The smallest, most reluctant tendril of heat curls in Shiro’s stomach as she tastes herself on Keith’s tongue, sharp and good. The moment is a hard sweetness, and Shiro finds herself insatiable in the face of Keith’s hot cunt grinding in stuttered movements against her thigh, wet lace scratching against her skin.

After all, they don’t have anywhere important to be today.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://disloyalpunk.tumblr.com)


End file.
